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It's not often that Tony wakes up and Bucky is still deep asleep, but tonight is definitely one of those times. He wakes from a dead sleep, too, suddenly completely aware of everything around himself in sharp detail and absolutely hating it. He opens his eyes with a start, gaze darting around the room a moment while his mind reels with the sudden sensations of everything at once.
Usually, if he wakes in the middle of the night, it takes a little deep breathing and maybe a quick trip to grab some water to fix the disruption and he's able to get back to sleep. This isn't a usual situation though. This is something that Tony knows immediately is going to be agony for at least an hour, if not so much more.
Before he even fully registers the way his skin itches all over, tears spring to his eyes as exhaustion preemptively takes over his mind. He can tell he's not getting back to sleep tonight.
He can't even begin to explain what he's feeling, but he's felt it before, and it always ends in him needing to get up and pace or to find some other way to counter the desire to rip the skin off his bones. Sometimes he's lucky and it's just in his legs; those are the nights pacing works. Other nights, it's all over and he can't get away from the need to find some sort of sensory input to override the ache and itch that digs under every layer and buries itself in twisting vines between his muscles and tendons, leaving him weak and tired and ready to collapse by the time the sun rises.
Tonight, it's everywhere. It starts with a tingling itch in his calves that he can't quite ignore. He tries to, but the longer he stays still under the blankets, the more he needs to move or he's going to scream. His legs feel like they've got ants crawling under the surface and the only thing that eases the pain is to move. Even then, the instant he stops moving, the itch and burn returns tenfold and he wants to scream.
It doesn't take long at all before that feeling creeps up to his thighs, his legs fully engulfed in the need to move. To fuss. He bites down hard on his tongue as he lies there, stretched out on his back next to Bucky, fighting back a strained whimper.
He knows what this is. He's suffered from this for years. He's just lucky that it isn't something he has to deal with every single night. If ever there were a distinct definition of Restless Leg, this is exactly it.
Except it doesn't stop at his legs. As Tony tries to find some way to distract his brain and his legs from the feeling of needing so desperately to move, the itch moves and spreads and he can feel his right arm beginning to burn and ache, that same painful tingle of stillness making him want to cry.
He moves his hand, lifting it to his face and scrubbing it down, scratching at his chin and fighting to steady his breathing. It's coming in shaky, broken drags. It's not enough air to think properly and somewhere in his mind he knows he's on the verge of a panic, but he's not equipped to pull out of it as another wave of that ache rolls through him, spreading down his spine, his entire body now on fire as he grinds his teeth together.
He drags his hand through his hair and pulls hard, reflecting for a moment on the new form of pain. It's not better, by any means. He's still hurting, but this is a pain he's giving himself. He has control over this. He can stop it just as easily as he started it. The other sensation is one he can't fight. He's never really figured out how.
He's read articles. He's talked to doctors. He's gotten advice from other people. Magnesium. Potassium. Iron supplements. More exercise. Less exercise. Socks tied around his feet. So many weird things and supposedly scientific options and nothing he's tried has actually worked. He's just had to live through each bout and give in until the exhaustion finally overtook his body.
It's agony. As a man of science, having his body betraying him in this way with no clear answers has led to near breakdowns in the past. He's done research for hours into the nights and come up empty, exhausted to the point of tears. To the point of wanting to throw himself off an overpass just to escape the fucking feeling. He knows it's irrational, the way he feels about it, but he just wants to find some way to explain it and maybe make it go away.
He debates waking Bucky up now, because this is starting to actually make him scared, but he doesn't want to take away from the other man's rest. Poor Bucky doesn't get great rest all the time himself, and just last week the man was struggling with an insomnia attack that lasted several days. Tony doesn't want to break the sleep he's actually managing to get right now.
After about ten minutes of twitching and struggling, he finally decides to get out of bed, making his way to the bathroom and starting a hot shower. Sometimes, the hot water has helped ease the ache, and he's desperate right now. The panic is getting stronger and he just wants relief.
He doesn't know how long he stands under the water, because it starts to work after a few minutes and the instant it does, he sobs. Resting his forehead against the wall, Tony stands under the water as hot as he can handle it and just lets it burn away the ache of muscles jumping with the need to move. He revels in the fact that the tingle and burn and itch all starts to fade away and his shoulders shake with his crying.
Eyes slipping closed, he turns his body and eases himself to the floor, sitting under the spray and curling over his knees, a position he hasn't taken since his late 20s, back when he was still mourning the loss of his parents through alcohol and cocaine and losing himself in any warm body he could find.
He wonders, briefly, if this itch under his skin is a result of those years. Maybe some long dormant dead nerves are firing up again after years of fucking up his brain with drugs and dangerous activity. Except he's pretty sure it doesn't work like that, and he's even more sure Restless Leg, if that is what this is a form of, doesn't work that way in general.
His mind wanders, as it often does when he's in a stressful situation, and eventually he's pretty sure he might even have dozed off. He starts some time later, shivering now that the water has gone cold, to the sudden creak of the water turning off and a towel being draped over his shoulders.
The water was frigid right before it turned off, and the towel is warm, as though it's been in the dryer for a little bit, which tells him a couple things. It tells him Bucky woke up not long after he went into the shower and put a towel in the dryer. It also tells him that he's been in here at least an hour, because that's how long their hot water lasts.
He lifts his head slowly, feeling his body ache with the movement, his entire back locking with how he's curled over himself. The cold hurts, like needles under his skin. It's not the same as the burning itch that brought him in here, but there are parts of him that feel like his skin is being scraped off by a cheese grater simply by being too fucking cold, and the warmth of the towel against his back and shoulders is equal parts welcome and painful.
It takes a full minute to look up into Bucky's eyes. Part of it is movement hurts, but he's also afraid of what he'll see. He's always tried to be stronger than this. To hide his body's weaknesses. Even from himself. This feels like one of his lowest points outside of when the addiction had him at rock bottom.
Well, rock bottom was pretty bad. This just really fucking stings.
He finally looks up at Bucky and he's met with warmth. Bucky's eyes are creased with soft concern and filled with love. There's a gentle smile curling his lips and not an ounce of judgment.
Tony likes to think he's learned Bucky's expressions, but he's surprised by the man every single day. Bucky has so much to give and to teach him. This is nothing new. Bucky's compassion and love for Tony is something he sees every day. But to see it now, when Tony's filled with so much irritation with himself, fills Tony with something he doesn't quite understand.
He feels like Bucky should at least be annoyed. Tony's woken him up at God knows what time it is. The sun isn't even up yet. And he's gone and used up all the hot water. Neither of them can do anything about that for another few hours. Shouldn't Bucky be admonishing him?
Wouldn't Howard have?
“Let's get you dried up and back to bed,” Bucky says instead, gently pulling Tony up and into his arms. He doesn't even make Tony stand. He lifts him easily, carrying him back to their bedroom, cradled against his chest bridal style. And Tony wants to fucking cry.
“I don't deserve you,” Tony chokes out, shaking his head tiredly.
Bucky hums, but doesn't answer right away. He gets back to their room and sits Tony on the chair by the desk before laying a couple towels on the bed. He turns then and starts using the one around Tony's shoulders to start drying his hair.
“You deserve to be loved,” Bucky finally says quietly. “Don't you?”
Tony frowns. “Do I?”
Bucky nods. “Doesn't everyone?”
“No,” Tony says, not needing to think about his answer.
Bucky pauses, lifting his gaze to meet Tony's and raising an eyebrow. Tony looks at him pointedly.
“You know not everyone does,” Tony says roughly. “You know there are people out there who don't deserve love. People who spend their lives forcing other people into boxes and trying to destroy or kill people that are different from them.”
Bucky raises both eyebrows at that, a look of understanding on his face. “Okay, barring bigots, fascists, all the ists, Nazis, the awful ones in the world,” he agrees. “People like you and me though? People who got hearts and who want good for others. People who are just trying to live their lives?”
Tony nods and looks away. “Yeah, I get your point. I just-” He shrugs softly.
“You advocate for others, you gotta advocate for yourself,” Bucky says firmly. “That's non-negotiable, Stark.”
Tony doesn't respond, but he knows Bucky is right. He just hates it when Bucky being right means that he's wrong.
Not in the ways it matters. He loves being wrong about the universe or about other people or anything that isn't himself. He lives for the debate and to learn and grow and expand his horizons. Even if he argues it, he loves getting to be told he's wrong and to learn why. He hates when Bucky is right about him. He hates when Bucky pins him so accurately it feels like the other man is right inside his mind with so little effort.
And yet, even that he loves. Because it's Bucky. It's his Bucky.
He reaches up with shaking fingers, palm resting against Bucky's cheek, and Bucky stops what he's doing, watching him.
“I love you,” Tony whispers. “I'm sorry for waking you up.”
“Wish you had,” Bucky hums. “The running water woke me. I wish it had been you. I could have tried to help sooner.” He smiles softly and curls his fingers over Tony's hand on his cheek. “You know, part of being your partner is that I'm always here for you.”
Tony smiles, ducking his head a little. Then, looking back up, he chuckles. “Yeah. I know. I'm working on the whole reaching out thing.”
Bucky laughs and shakes his head, his expression fond. He leans forward and presses his lips to Tony's forehead. “Let's finish drying you off and get you back to bed, baby.”
Tony whines and wraps his arm around Bucky's shoulders, stopping him from pulling back. “Could I convince you to join me in bed with less clothes on?” he teases, earning another laugh from Bucky as the other man untangles himself from Tony's hold and goes for another one of the towels.
“If you're good and let me finish drying you off, we'll see,” Bucky rumbles, and there's a warmth in those words that settles in Tony's bones, making him smile and chuckle.
“I'm never good,” he murmurs, smirking. He knows he's too exhausted to do more than curl up in Bucky's arms, but that alone sounds like the best way to lead into the morning. And while his body still aches and he knows the itch is still there just under the surface, the thought of curling up with Bucky has his mind at ease, for now.